Wolf In Waiting. Rebecca Flanders

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      I don’t know. I suppose I expected her to be…unattractive.

      Instinctively, I got to my feet, and at just that moment she recovered from her own shock and dropped her head, starting to bow. I suppose we both felt foolish.

      She said, “Pardonnez-moi, je ne sais—”

      And I said, “Non, pas de—”

      We both broke off, and Victoria fell into a respectful silence, avoiding my eyes.

      I released an impatient breath. There were certain things about my new status I would never get used to. Deference was one thing. Abject subservience was another.

      “Are you Victoria St. Clare?” I asked.

      She inclined her head. “Oui, monsieur.”

      I switched back to English, just as I had been doing since I’d gotten off the plane. Montreal was such an unpredictably bilingual city, even I was becoming confused. “I am Noel Duprey.”

      She shot me a surprised look. “I know, sir.”

      Of course she knew. Everyone knew who I was now, even if they hadn’t before. Victoria St. Clare had rattled me more than I realized.

      I pushed a hand through my hair and adopted a brisk air of authority. “All right, here are the rules. Speak English. I’ve lived in London for twelve years, and I think in English. And don’t call me sir. I’m not the ruler yet. Call me Noel or Mr. Duprey. Now pack up your desk and be ready to get out of here in fifteen minutes.”

      She no longer appeared to be having any difficulty maintaining eye contact. Her eyes flashed outrage, and I couldn’t understand why, although if I had truly tried I probably could have put it together. I confess I was distracted, and by several things, the curve of her bosom being only one.

      Her voice was cool and her manner remote as she said, “Monsieur, comment—I mean, sir, if I may ask why?”

      I scowled fiercely at her. “I asked you not to call me that. As for why…” I gestured abruptly to my surroundings. “I should think that would be fairly obvious. Do you call this an office? There isn’t even a door. You may be able to work like this, but I most certainly cannot. I’ll be taking over the executive suite, and for as long as we’ll be working together, you will have the office adjoining. Does that meet with your approval, Ms. St. Clare?”

      Now her eyes widened with astonishment. Her eyes, I don’t think I’ve mentioned, were one of her most captivating features.

      She said, “I…excuse me, but I don’t think I understand.”

      I had to admire her composure, which was a great deal more evident than my own at the moment. This was not the first time I had been thrown off guard by a beautiful woman, although it was, perhaps, the first time I had been so rattled by one so inaccessible, and I had handled the whole thing badly, blurting out details without giving any explanation. I was annoyed with myself, and with her. She, however, remained completely unruffled, regarding me with a cool and distant gaze that revealed nothing more than polite curiosity.

      That only irritated me more. I was beginning to understand why her co-workers didn’t like her. This was one woman who could intimidate the hell out of man or beast.

      “You’re not the only one,” I said shortly. “All I know is that the powers that be have decided you and I should work together on a special project. I assumed you would have been notified by now.”

      “What project?”

      My frown increased. “They haven’t told you anything? Well, no matter. It’s best that I explain it myself, anyway, but not here. We need some privacy.”

      Now it was her turn to frown. “But who? Who assigned us to work together?”

      I was surprised, though I couldn’t say why. “Sebastian St. Clare, of course.”

      She murmured, “Of course,” but I could hear her heartbeat speed up. With shock, excitement, confusion? She controlled her body language well, and her emotions were difficult to read.

      Victoria turned away casually to slip off her coat, and I thought it was in an effort to further hide her reaction from me.

      I said sharply, “Why are you hanging up your coat? I told you, you’re moving. Call an office boy to help you with your things and meet me upstairs in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”

      “I’m never late,” Victoria replied coolly.

      I could barely prevent a rueful smile as I remembered the one flattering entry in her file. “Yes,” I murmured. “I know.”

      I picked up my briefcase and departed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Victoria

      When Noel was gone, I pressed my hands to my cheeks and desperately tried to control the quick, hot beating of my heart, knowing that he could hear it and hoping that he would attribute it to anxiety, uncertainty, guilt, anything except what it was.

      Noel Duprey. Noel with golden blond hair, quick green eyes, sharp, patrician features, wicked grin and irresistible sex appeal. Noel Duprey, the standard against which all others were measured, the strongest, the quickest, the bravest, the smartest and the most noble of all our kind. Noel Duprey, the future leader of all our people. Noel Duprey, on whom I had had a crush since I was ten years old.

      Even as a boy there had been something special about him. He’d excelled at sports and scholastic competitions, running second only to Michael St. Clare in every important test in his level. Even then he’d had hangers-on and admirers, and the young girls had been shameless about him. But despite his exalted status, he was never too busy to play with the younger members of the clan, and he was one of the few boys who had never teased or tormented me. In fact, on more than one occasion, he had actually been nice to me.

      That kind of nobility of character, I supposed, was one of the reasons he would someday lead us all.

      I had been there for the battle of succession. The event was so spectacular, so unprecedented, that the entire St. Clare Corporation had shut down its offices all over the world for the day—the stock market had plummeted—and even underlings like me had been given the opportunity to see history in the making.

      Michael St. Clare, Sebastian St. Clare’s son, had been a brilliant man with every indication that he would carry on the St. Clare tradition of inspired leadership—except for one thing. He did not want to be leader. He did not even, the rumormongers whispered, particularly like being a St. Clare. When he finally announced his intentions to turn his back on his legacy and, in fact, on his very nature, for the love of a human woman, many said it had been inevitable.

      Of course someone had to challenge his right to succession, though how it came about that Noel was the one to do so I was not exactly sure. I only know that I watched the violent battle with my heart in my throat and when Noel, poised to strike the killing blow, had instead turned and helped his adversary to СКАЧАТЬ